It seemed Giles was embracing this way of thinking too, for although he was still as kind and gentle with Lily as he’d always been, he seldom talked about his ministry work at home, and never included Lily in any part of it other than when she accompanied him to social events.
So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that two women in a strange new country, living under very cramped conditions, had become something more than mistress and servant. They talked a great deal, about Tabitha, books, cooking and their neighbours, they reminisced about home, and often took walks together with Tabitha to explore their new city.
At night Giles often had to go out, and Lily would join Matilda in the kitchen, or on hot evenings, out in the back yard. Matilda might still call Lily ‘madam’, she still obeyed her implicitly and did the main brunt of the household chores, but the truth was that Matilda was more than Lily’s equal. She was the one who haggled for lower prices in the shops, the one who wasn’t afraid of anything, not even those beetles she now knew were cockroaches. It was she who decided the day’s menu, for housekeeping money was tighter here than it had been in England and she knew how to stretch it. Each time Lily confided her worries to Matilda, the bond grew stronger between them.
‘But where would I go to make friends?’ Matilda asked. The last time she’d had a friend was when she was a child in Finders Court – once she began selling flowers there was no time for such things.
‘There’s a dance for young people at the church each Saturday evening.’
‘I can’t dance,’ Matilda objected.
‘From what I understand they don’t do anything more difficult than a polka and I could teach you to do that.’
‘What if no one asked me to dance?’ Matilda said fearfully.
‘I don’t think that’s likely to happen,’ Lily smiled. ‘But if you don’t like that idea, what about the Bible class the Deacon runs on Wednesday evenings?’
Matilda pulled a face.
‘Other girls in service go there,’ Lily said reprovingly. ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to know a little more about the Scriptures either.’
On the following Wednesday Matilda went to the Bible class in the vestry of Trinity Church. She hadn’t the remotest interest in the Bible, but she did like the idea of making some friends of her own.
As she had half expected it was very, very dull, Mr Knapp the Deacon was a thin little man with a high-pitched voice and a squint, and of the eleven people there seven were women, and only two of those her age, the other five being well over thirty and Germans. The four men were Germans too; from what Matilda gathered they saw this class as an opportunity to improve their English.
The class broke up at eight-thirty, and as Matilda got up to leave, one of the two younger girls, dark-haired and pretty, wearing a plain navy-blue dress much like her own, grinned at her. ‘Say! Do you work for the new minister?’ she asked.
Matilda smiled and agreed she did.
‘Well, I’m real pleased to meet you,’ the girl said, her dark eyes alight with genuine interest. ‘I’m Rosa Castilla, Mrs Arkwright’s maid. You know she met your mistress when she first arrived from England and when I heard tell she’d brought a maid with her I hoped I might run into you sometime. Can we walk home together?’
After such a tedious evening Matilda was overjoyed to meet someone in a similar position to herself. As they left the church and made their way down Wall Street, she told Rosa her name, and explained that she used to be just a nursemaid, but now did housekeeping too.
‘I surely wouldn’t stand for that,’ Rosa exclaimed, looking horrified. ‘I’d say I was quitting.’
‘I like it better really,’ Matilda replied. ‘I get to do the shopping and I like cooking. Besides, I’m fond of my mistress and she relies on me.’
It was the first time she had ever voiced how she felt about her mistress. She hadn’t even mentioned it to her father and Dolly in letters. But saying it kind of clarified her feelings and made her feel good.
‘You’re fond of her?’ Rosa’s dark eyes opened wide in astonishment. ‘I never heard of anyone even liking the people they work for. I can’t stand Mrs Arkwright, I’d surely poison her if I knew how.’
Matilda laughed at such unabashed honesty. Lily, who rarely made disparaging remarks about anyone, had described Mrs Arkwright as ‘formidable’, so she guessed the woman did give Rosa a tough time.
‘I’d leave tomorrow if I had another job to go to,’ the girl went on. ‘But my folks depend on my wages, so I have to stick it.’
She went on to tell Matilda that she was born in Italy and her parents had emigrated here twelve years ago, when she was five. ‘They aren’t doing too well,’ she said with a sigh. ‘They used to run a bakery together and we lived upstairs, but when Mama got the consumption the owners threw us out. Now Papa works in the Fishmarket and they live in a room nearby. I don’t mind handing over my wages ‘cos they need it, but I get real scared sometimes that Mama might die. I don’t know if I could stand to go back home and look after the five little ones.’
Matilda had explored the seedy area around Fulton Fishmarket and she could guess the conditions Rosa’s family lived in were much like the ones she’d once known. ‘Then you must make it clear they can’t depend on you,’ she said, imagining how she would have felt if she’d been compelled to go back to Finders Court after growing used to Primrose Hill. ‘I might sound a bit heartless, but once you’re back there, you’ll probably be stuck for life.’
Rosa looked surprised. ‘You sound like you know how it is,’ she said.
‘I do,’ Mathilda replied and quickly told her about where she came from, and how her luck changed.
‘You know, you’re real nice. I thought English girls were all stuck up,’ Rosa said and tucked her hand through Matilda’s arm. ‘Can we be pals?’
‘I hope so.’ Matilda felt a tingle of excitement run down her spine. Although she hadn’t given it much thought, she was a little lonely and this friendly, outspoken girl seemed a perfect companion. ‘Do you get much time off?’
Rosa wrinkled her nose. ‘Only Sunday afternoons to go and see my folks and Wednesday evening. But then I can’t do much with that because she makes me go to the Bible class, same as she makes me go to her church on Sunday.’
There was something about ‘her church’ which made Matilda look sharply at the other girl. ‘Where’s yours then?’
Rosa giggled and her dark eyes flashed with mischief. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
Matilda smiled. ‘I think so.’
‘You have to swear you won’t tell this one because I’d be thrown out if Mrs Arkwright found out.’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die if I tell,’ Matilda agreed.
‘I’m a Catholic really. I told a lie to get the job because the Arkwrights hate Catholics. Do you think that’s wicked of me?’
To Matilda, who had been brought up without any religion in her life, she found it peculiar that so many people made a big issue out of it. ‘No, I don’t,’ she said. ‘I think the wicked ones are the Arkwrights for being so un-Christian.’
‘The nobs are all like that, they look down their haughty noses at Catholics. Mind you, I wouldn’t go to church at all if I wasn’t forced to. I don’t really believe there is a God, if there was, why would he make people suffer so?’
‘I used to think that too,’ Matilda said thoughtfully. ‘But Reverend Milson is the kindest, most caring man I ever met, and he kind of makes me believe, just because he does.’
Rosa giggled, nudging her in the ribs with her elbow. ‘You sound like you’re a bit in love with him?’
‘I love him for what he is,’ Matilda said without any embarrassment. ‘I’d like to marry a man just like him.’
‘I’d like to marry anyone who would look after me,’ Rosa said, her dark eyes suddenly doleful. ‘But the only boys I ever meet are the ones that live by my folks, and I ain’t marryin’ one of them, ‘cos they ain’t got nothing to offer.’
T
hat remark struck a real chord. Matilda remembered only too well how she’d felt about the boys around Finders Court.
‘There must be somewhere a couple of beauties like us could meet some decent ones,’ she replied half-jokingly. ‘Mrs Milson said they have a dance at the church on Saturdays. Do you think there might be some there?’
Rosa pulled a face. ‘I reckon most of ‘em would be German immigrants. I can’t be doing with someone who don’t speak English, not even if he’s respectable.’
Matilda thought that was a bit bigoted. She had heard her master claim on many an occasion that Germans were among the most industrious immigrant nationalities in the city, and as she’d seen tonight, they worked hard at learning the language too.
‘Do you think Mrs Arkwright would let you have a Saturday night off anyway?’ she asked.
‘Maybe if she knew I was going to something at the church.’ Rosa’s eyes sparkled with mischief again. ‘I suppose dancing with a German lad is better than sitting in the basement cleaning silver!’
They parted at the end of State Street, promising to meet again next week at the Bible class. Matilda skipped along the street, feeling absurdly happy.
It was just two days later that Matilda accidentally discovered New York’s darkest side. It was her afternoon off and as it was warm and sunny, but not too hot, she decided to walk to Greenwich Village. She had heard that this was the place where the rich had built summer houses to escape to when there were epidemics in the city. Lily had wistfully reported after visiting there once that it was very pretty with little farms and lots of trees.
Had the Milsons been at home Matilda would have asked them the route to take over to the west side of the island. But Lily had been invited with Tabitha to luncheon by a new acquaintance, and Giles had been gone since ten that morning.
She set off along Pearl Street looking in the shop windows as she went, and she was so wrapped up in her thoughts about going out with Rosa that she failed to notice how far she had gone. It was only when she noticed she was now entering a very shabby area that she remembered the cautionary advice from Mrs Kirkbright, on her first day here, that this neighbourhood was unpleasant. She took a left-hand turn to make her way westwards, but as this seemed to be no improvement, she turned right.
She suddenly found herself in a narrow, unpaved street which was ankle-deep in filth. Ancient sagging frame houses leaned crazily against each other and although there was a wooden sidewalk, that was rotten, with great, dangerous holes. Yet more striking than the filth and dilapidation was the total change in atmosphere. Even in bright sunshine it felt dark and menacing.
It was perverse curiosity which made her continue rather than turn back to Pearl Street. She wanted to know everything about this city, and she couldn’t do that unless she saw all its aspects, good and bad.
Yet as she continued to walk further into the maze of winding alleys, and it grew steadily worse, instinct told her she had made a grave mistake coming here alone. The smell of excrement was so strong she found herself holding her breath and gingerly picking her way holding her skirts up. There seemed to be an equal number of black and white people, but as everyone was so dirty and ragged, their colour was hardly noticeable. Hollow-eyed, tow-haired women with babies at their breasts, slumped in doorways, eyed her with deep suspicion. Almost naked children with hard, adult eyes and festering sores on their limbs began to follow her, and again and again she saw inebriated men relieving themselves openly, turning to look at her and shouting ribald comments.
There were men and women lying insensible on the ground, a man with no legs trying to haul himself along with just his arms, and a child of Tabitha’s age completely naked devouring a piece of bread which she’d obviously found abandoned in the dirt.
Pigs rooted in the muck, but they bore no resemblance to the fat, pink ones she knew from England; these were skinny, ugly, fearsome creatures caked in filth. Alongside them were dogs so thin and mange-ridden she could see every rib, and as they snarled and snapped at each other, she became alarmed that they might very well attack her.
She had always believed there could be no worse place in the entire world than London’s Seven Dials, yet terrible as that was, and however many vile atrocities were committed in its dark, dank alleys and rookeries, it had a vibrant, bustling quality which was entirely lacking here. A pall of apathy hung in the air, the disease lurking in every dark corner was palpable, and it was strangely quiet, as if the residents were in a kind of trance.
She shuddered to think what it must be like at night, in rain or in the depth of winter, for there was not one pane of glass in any window, and parts of roofs were missing. She sensed that each of those sagging doorways led to rabbit warrens of evil rooms, each one home for dozens of people. The ‘grog shop’ on each corner was a testimony to how the residents coped with their deprivations; even the cries from babies were so weak she guessed that few of them would survive infancy.
It grew even worse the further she went, the buildings closer together, the filth underfoot deeper, the stench so bad she could scarcely breathe, and now she was frightened because she was aware she’d lost her bearings entirely. To ask the way out was unthinkable, she knew from Seven Dials that when someone revealed themselves as a nervous stranger they would be led to a dark alley and robbed. She had no more than a few cents on her, but just a glance at the rags people were wearing was enough for her to know her boots and clothes alone were sufficient reason to attack her.
‘You mustn’t show your fear,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Keep your head up, walk quickly and purposefully. You will get out.’
Yet as a man in a broken-down stove-pipe hat lurched towards her with a cudgel in his hand, she lost her nerve entirely. His toothless grin was bestial, reminding her of a man who lived for a time in Finders Court who made a living from dog fights. She dodged past him, her heart beating so fast she felt it might burst.
‘Come ‘ere, me little darlin”, she heard him say, and she picked up her skirt and began to run blindly. In her terror she imagined not just him, but packs of men were chasing her. She darted into an alley only to find herself in a tiny court and caught in what felt like a giant spider’s web.
She screamed involuntarily, flaying her arms around as something flapped in her face. It was the sound of her own terrified yell which brought her out of her blind panic. Looking around, she saw she had merely run into a mass of washing lines, festooned with millions of dirty rags. She had seen such things before countless times in London, rag-pickers collected them from rubbish dumps, hung them up to dry them off, then sold them again in bulk. She hadn’t been chased either, the only people watching her were a group of dirty children, and they were probably as frightened by her scream as she was to be there.
Pulling herself together, she resolved she had to get away from here as quickly as possible. Seeing a boy of about six or seven with red hair, standing apart from the other children, and wearing nothing more than a man’s ragged shirt, she beckoned to him.
‘Yeah! Whatcha want?’ he said suspiciously as he sidled nearer her.
At a distance he had reminded her of her two younger brothers, purely because of his hair colour, but the resemblance ended there. He had a defeated look her brothers had never had, lacklustre eyes, and he was so caked in ingrained dirt he couldn’t have been washed in months.
Taking one cent from her pocket she held it out to him. ‘Show me the way back to Pearl Street and I’ll give you this,’ she said.
He looked her up and down as if trying to surmise if she had more, and how he could best rob her. ‘My father is a policeman,’ she said, looking him squarely in the face. ‘So don’t try anything. Now, do you want the money?’
He stared at her silently for what seemed like forever, then nodded and held out his hand.
Matilda shook her head. ‘Not till you get me there.’
‘Whatcha come in here for?’ he asked with a sullen expression. ‘We sure ain’t nowhere near Pe
arl Street.’
‘I was trying to find my father and I lost my way,’ she said. ‘Now, are you going to take me?’
‘I’ll get yer to Broadway, that ain’t far,’ he said. Then, without waiting to hear if that would do, he set off at a trot a couple of yards in front of her. He led her through a fetid alley so narrow her arms touched the walls either side, across another wider street and out into a wide main thoroughfare busy with cabs and carriages. Across the street was a huge, strange-looking fortresslike building.
Matilda breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief to see civilization again. ‘This is Broadway?’ she asked for she knew that name, Giles had said it was one of the first proper roads to be built by the Dutch and it ran right from Lower Manhattan all the way up through the island.
The boy nodded, holding out his hand for the money.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Sidney,’ he said, his eyes on her hand rather than her face.
‘Well, thank you for bringing me here, Sidney. What’s that building over there?’ she asked, pointing to the fortress.
‘The Tombs,’ he said, glancing at it fearfully. ‘Now, give us the money.’
‘What goes on in there?’ she asked. Despite its rather splendid almost ancient Egyptian architecture, she could sense it had some awful purpose.
‘The prison, ain’t it,’ he said. ‘Now, give us the money.’
Matilda handed over the coin. ‘Have you got parents, Sidney?’
He shook his head.
‘So who looks after you?’
‘Me,’ he said, frowning as if he didn’t understand why anyone should ask such a question. Matilda put her hand back into her pocket and brought out the rest of the money she had there, six cents in all. ‘Buy yourself something to eat,’ she said, putting it into his filthy hand. But before she could ask him anything more, he raced away, back into the alley where he clearly felt more secure.